


and Kassandra wiped her brow as she stood among the ruins

by kiirian



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Badass Jaskier, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, ergo Jaskier has powers, powers, singing has power
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:20:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22799989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiirian/pseuds/kiirian
Summary: Some call a good voice a gift from the Gods. A talent given to be spent well. Julian knows nothing about it.What he knows are letters surrendering him, telling him stories that will come. And he sings them, after so many years of keeping them down. They pour from his mouth and he does nothing to stop them. He lets the fate change, bends it to his wishes.He sings and the world trembles.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 36
Kudos: 743
Collections: Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development





	1. Chapter 1

The first time Julian sings he is four and his brother hears it first. At least that’s how the boy will remember it. They are playing in a courtyard, a small four-year-old chasing after his two years older brother. Sun shines on them, warming the air. Mud and dirt splash around as they run. The courtyard of their house is mostly empty, except for their laughter. Their hair is light and they both share the same sparkling blue eyes. Their mother is busy with planning some festivities and their father is away, securing a trade route for their silk resources. But Julian doesn’t know that. Even if he has heard his mother talking about it, all he got from that was that he wouldn't be able to see his dad. His older brother took it upon himself to cheer him up. They spend days running around the house or hiding from each other in the stables. But now the game is simple. Julian has to catch his brother. So, he chases after him, short legs carrying him at their maximum speed. He tries to run even faster. Once his brother reaches the kitchen door the game is up. Julian feels his breath rattling inside his lungs. Faster. Faster. Just a little bit. He sways from side to side, his feet almost gets stuck in the mud. He doesn’t give up, he curls his fists and runs. And then, he loses. His brother has passed the threshold. Julian stops in his tracks. His mouth twists into a grimace, but he knows better than to cry. Big boys don’t cry. So he looks up, looks at the birds flying over their home. He thinks to the song their nanny likes to sing. The words come to him without any effort. He feels them in his throat. He even sees them, flying with birds. 

_I saw a little bird go hop, hop, hop._

_I told the little bird to stop, stop, stop._

_It went to the slop, slop, slop_

_I ran after it fast, fast, fast_

_Didn’t see a hammer as I passed, passed, passed_

_Down it went, catching my head at last, last last_

Silence falls around him. His brother is staring from the door and Julian finally bursts into tears. He knows that’s not the way that the song went. Yet once he started singing the words just came to him. One after the other, perfectly in tune with the simple melody. He wanted to stop, but he couldn't. His voice has made everything else fall silent, even the horses in the stables got quiet. Yet the moment of singing hasn’t been so bad. He felt like he was doing something right as the words have always been there, but only he could show them to the others. 

He can feel snot on his face and his crying is slowly turning into a long shriek. Soon there are warm hands on his face. His brother’s smell gets through his runny nose and he bursts forward tackling the other boy to the ground. There he buries into his chest. He hears other voices, mostly concerned about them. He doesn’t let go of his brother until their mother comes out to check the commotion. When she sees them on the ground, their clothes ruined, she quickly picks them up and with a strength of a hard-working man brings her two boys inside the house. With Julian under one arm and his brother under the other, she brings them to her bedroom, where she asks one of the maids to run the bath. She makes the boys sit on her bed. 

“What happened?” She asks while kneeling in front of them. 

She checks them over, to find any injuries. 

“July just started crying. I don’t know, we were playing, I won and he sang something and started crying.” 

“Sung?” Their mother goes pale. She looks from one of the boys to the other. “What did he sing about?” 

“It was nanny’s song.” Julian tries to answer. "And it floated around and I had to sing it."

He has started hiccupping because of all that crying. He rubs his eyes, which puts dirt all over his face. 

“It’s about birds.” His brother supplies. 

“Was there anything wrong about it? Please boys, focus.” 

“Something about a hammer? I don’t remember nanny singing about it.” His brother looks ready to cry. 

Their mother gets up. She is no longer looking at them. Instead, her gaze falls on a family portrait she had hung in the master bedroom. In it, she was sitting in a garden, with her family surrendering her. She is holding her sister’s hand. Both look young and beautiful. Their parents stand behind them, big smiles on their faces. 

She startles. Quickly turning her head away, she looks down at herself. Some of her brown hair have fallen out of their braid. Her beautiful dress has brown strips of mud across it. She looks distressed and her sharp tone reflects that. 

“Wash yourself and change into new clothes. I will call your nanny to help you.“ She tells them before leaving. 

Julian bursts into fresh tears. He feels like it is all his fault. He has made mother angry so she went away just like his dad did. His brother gently rocks him even though he is crying himself. 

* * *

Two days later Julian finds out that his mother has written a letter. She wrote to their father, asking him to come back sooner. 

“Unfortunately, he can’t. There is still lots to do. But he wants you to know he loves you and misses you greatly.” She offers during a family dinner. 

Both Julian and his brother are sitting next to each other. If it wasn’t for their mother’s coldness they would have already forgotten about the whole incident. 

“Bernard, your teacher should arrive in a week. Make sure you have everything ready.” She continues. “And you, Julian, should make sure not to disturb your brother during his lessons. You are almost five, we will find you something to do. Maybe horse riding.” 

“Yes, mother.” 

They sit in uncomfortable silence. Only when their food appears from the kitchen, they have something to distract themselves from it. Julian feels his mother’s eyes on him. It has become a trend during the last two days. She is always observing him, but once he tries to talk to her or play with her she turns away. His brother has also noticed that and tried to make sure Julian was to busy to notice her dismissal. 

Even if the younger boy can’t tell what exactly was wrong with his mother, he can feel it under his skin. It crawls every time she looks away when he tries to get her attention. 

His mother’s behaviour isn’t the only thing that changed during the last two days. He has that urge, that strong inkling he is trying to fight. He wants to sing. But not about the birds or stories he heard from the nanny. He wants to sing words scattered around him. Words that whisper to him during the night or even while he is playing. He only does it when no one is listening. He can see how the servants are wary of him. Two days of him trying to come closer to anyone other than his family or his nanny has shown him as much. He asked his brother what to do. He proposed not singing anymore. Julian followed his advice, his brother knew what he was talking about. After all, he is two years older. But the words don’t give him rest. They push at his mouth, try to crawl out of his throat. He can taste them at his tongue, ready to burst. He tries to swallow his food, but there is something already there. A song perhaps or just a simple rhyme. He doesn’t know and he feels like he is going to choke. The worlds that spin outside of him, that he can see dancing around the room move faster. 

“July? July!” His brother whisper-shouts to him. 

A gentle nudge under the table brings him back to their dinner. He can swallow. He even takes another bite. 

“What?” 

“Wanna go on some adventure before my teacher arrives?” 

A bright smile like stars they can see from their bedroom appears on his brother’s face. Julian nods quickly and enthusiastically. All of the words disappear it the face of an adventure with his brother. Their mother looks at them, for the first time in two days smiling instead of frowning. 

“Just make sure you two don’t get lost.” She instructs gently. 

Her children seem lost in their world. They talk about going with their nanny to the market, meeting other kids which played on the streets. She relaxes into her seat. Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe a song was just a song. Besides Julian was too young. Something like that could act up when someone was older, not in a four-year-old. She thinks back to her sister. To her madness and words spilling from her mouth like a fountain. She desperately hopes that her son will be speared. That the curse wasn’t passed to her child since her sister didn’t birth any. She looks at Julian, at his soft brown hair and blue eyes and all she can see is her younger sister. The same plump cheeks, thin bones. Even their curls fall the same way across the forehead. She grips her fork tighter. She had to bury one bright soul because of its madness. She doesn’t want to do it ever again. 

* * *

The next time Julian sings he is in love. He has tried everything. He has shown off his riding skills, told his beloved all he knew about spices (his brother’s idea) and even bought a sword to look knightlier. The thing was too heavy for him so he went to sell it soon after Maria told him she had no interest in knights. He finally decides to write her a love poem. But that would be too easy, too many young boys have tried that and failed. So, he plans to perform it as well. He sits in his room, breaking his head over what rhymes with ‘your beauty’ when he sees words just appearing on the page. He knows they aren’t real. He can tell what belongs to the world around him and what is just a construct of his mind. He had to become an expert at this since he had learned about the madness running in the family. He tries to ignore them, tries to focus on his lovely Maria. But those words seem particularly stubborn. They move around the parchment, moving up and down, just to get his attention. He looks outside the window. Maybe writing isn’t the best idea, maybe he should do something else. Like go and fight a dragon for her. Anything other than words. They follow him everywhere; they intrude into everything he does. The problem is that he loves them. He loves creating, plucking words out of the air to create something new. But he is always wary not to use too much of them. Once they see an opening they continue to fall from his mouth. He cannot stop them; he is just a medium for them. 

Finally, he relents and looks down. The parchment is full of words. Sentence after sentence he can see Maria’s life unfolding in front of him. He closes his eyes, but the words are already there. He knows she will die in childbirth. That she will have a husband that doesn't love her. He even knows the bastards name. He will beat her. He will use all of her money. All those awful things lie in front of him. He quickly opens his eyes and picks up a feather. He writes down everything contrary to the things he had seen. He writes how happy Maria will be. He writes of a nobleman driving through the streets only to see a beautiful maiden. They fall in love constantly and have two beautiful children. There is beating, no death. He writes and writes. And then he sings. He looks for a perfect note, for music that warms hearts. Something easy enough to hum to himself. He doesn’t even notice the whole day has slipped by until his brother knocks on the door. 

“You alright, July? There was dinner, like an hour ago.” 

“I’m fine. Just, listen to this.” 

He plays his melody on the old lute he got from one of his uncles. He plays after having only a few lessons on how to play. But he pours everything he has into it. He makes sure to hit all of the right notes. And he sings. As he sings, he can see the words changing, their constant swirl coming to a halt. With a flash, they change into something else. He doesn’t have to read them, because there is still part of the song he hasn’t sung yet. Once he finishes his brother hugs him close. 

“That was... If that’s how you plan to woe Maria, she is already yours.” 

Julian smiles awkwardly. 

“You liked it?” 

“Of course! You may be a little bit unpolished. And this lute has seen better days. But all in all, you do know how to carry a tune. I’ve heard tomorrow she is going to be visiting the market. Maybe try to catch her there. Also, eat something beforehand.” 

“Thanks, Bernard.” 

With their mother gone his brother has taken to mothering him. Not that Julian opposed too much. Their father only saw his firstborn, as he was supposed to take on the business. Which left Julian with no support, besides the teachers that visited their house. 

“Maybe I should play it to the old man Stach? He could tell me what to change before I make a fool out of myself.” 

“We both know he is going to complain no matter how good you sing or play. It’s on you, Jules. For me it is perfect, but if you want to wait for Jakub to make a pass at Maria...” 

“Okay, okay. I will play tomorrow. Just make sure the kitchen is ready to cook all those vegetables that are thrown at me.” 

Bernard chuckles and ruffles Julian’s hair. 

“I wouldn't dream of that. They are going to throw only the rotten ones, so no soup from that.” 

With that, he leaves his brother alone. Julian closes the door after him and goes back to the parchment. The words on it seem to be both real and unreal. He knows he had written them there, but they pulse and dance like all the other words spinning around him. He decides to take it as a good sign. 

* * *

It is just his luck. He sings to Maria, sings in the middle of a market just as a nobleman arrives at his high horse. He looks handsome, in his silky clothes and high boots. When his gaze falls on a fairy headed girl he constantly swoops down from the horse and almost runs to her. They talk in hushed voices, the music giving them more intimacy than a busy street normally would. It seems too accidental, but Julian doesn’t have time to wonder about it. He gives Maria one last look, taking in her beauty and the redness of her blush. She has chosen another, all that thanks to his song. On the plus sight, coins are coming Julian’s way. People toss him something from a change they got while shopping. They stop only to listen to him sing. He tries to keep his eyes on Maria, but soon a crowd doesn’t let him see her. He finishes his song, picks up all the gold he can and turns to walk back home. 

“Hey, you! That Kornewski kid. Sing some more!” He sees a few burly men walking his way. 

He recognizes in them bullies from his younger days. They sure grew up, leaving him in an even more disadvantaged position. His brother used to chase them away. If Julian was alone he had to run as fast as he could. With his lute on his shoulder and pockets full of the coin, he wonders what to do next. 

“First of all my name is Julian Zygmunt Kornewski. Second of all this was supposed to be a love song. Not a whole act.” 

Some old lady grips his arm. 

“I have an inn, just south of here. Come to play someday.” 

He gently pushes her off but agrees with a nervous smile. 

“Of course, my lady. I certainly will. Now if you excuse me.” 

He tries to leave and leave those big men behind. He grips his lute and walks into one of the many alleyways. This turns out to be his mistake. He knows the city, but those thugs seem to know it even better. 

“I told you to sing, didn’t I. And also, lose some of that money.” 

The man from before calls after him. 

“Not to be rude, but attacking me in the middle of the day isn’t the best idea.” Julian turns to them. 

He pulls his lute even closer. The words keep spinning around them, blazing from their usual gold to dark brown. 

“We are just having a chat. Besides, I asked you to sing. You are a bard, right? And bards sing. No crime in that.” 

Julian looks at the man’s face. The words connected to him tell a tale of a sad, miserable life ahead of him. A life full of hunger and bad decisions. It’s the same for the other two, diligently following their leader. They come from poor families, their fathers were hard man, friends just like their sons. And a hard hand breeds another one. Violence is the langue they know. No use in pretty words. 

“Here you go.” Julian tosses what he has in his pockets. 

He takes the lute out and starts singing. He no longer sings of love between a commoner and a noble. He sings about three friends who turned away from easy prey. Of them changing their ways and becoming way more patient. He cuts it short when he sees their dazed faces. The words pulse, but it isn’t the same way as before. But the sound lingers as he turns on his heels and flees. 

* * *

The night the market accident finds him sweaty and exhausted. He has been lying in his bed for at least an hour, just staring ahead. The usual calming sounds from the outside make him even more agitated. They don’t distract him from seeing sentences behind his closed eyelids. How can he sleep when even closing his eyes brings him only more light? He turns to his left side and starts counting the holes in the wall. “revenge’ and ‘witch’ come out of the biggest hole. It moves like a warm. Gets shorter, taller. Then pushes forward. Longer and shorter. It wriggles to him, crawls into his ear. It tells him that revenge is coming. That a witch doesn’t always mean the same. He doesn’t move, doesn’t answer. He acts like nothing is happening. Like he doesn’t want to claw his ears out. 

He lets out a long breath, instead of a scream. It disturbs small words he knows that belong to their house. Like dust, they settle back on his bed. He starts counting them instead of the holes. They don’t move too much, like most of the sentences that belong to objects. Only people dance so much, change and interact with each other. He thanks all the gods that exist he cannot see his own words. He is the only blank canvas he has ever seen and that makes him both proud and agitated. He can do whatever he wants, he can stare at himself in the bath without getting a headache. But he also doesn’t know what will befall him. Not like he fully believes those words can predict the future. He isn’t mad. He isn’t like his aunt. Those words are just a product of his own imagination, that he has to ignore to be seen as normal. Just because they sometimes coincide with true events doesn’t have to mean anything. 

He counts to the fifty before giving up. He gets up and goes to the window. Outside there is a clear sky, with few sentences dancing above the roofs. But he can ignore them, he can focus on the stars. The sky is safe, even if it has a fate of its own it doesn’t feel like sharing. Cold wind makes him shudder. The strain of keeping the words inside always makes him sweat. He observes a long sentence coming out of a chimney of an anonymous house. It is too far for him to read. It dances with the wind, moves from one side to another. It even reflects some of the moonlight. Then flies away from him, becoming a speck of gold before disappearing behind a taller house. He wonders if those words exist even when he isn’t looking at them. If they do, shouldn't they be considered real? He knows better than to ask one of his teachers. He has gotten enough scolding to know how to play the game of being normal. Even in the word of basilisks seeing things that aren’t there is considered mad. 

He scowls. It was unfair. If someone said a fairy flew to their town, no one would bat an eyelash. They would probably call a Witcher. But if Julian came out and said he could see the word that may or may not predict the future he would be locked up. He thinks about writing about it, about his case. He could profit from that. Or finally, find someone to fall for him. All of his friends were on their way to marriage. He always tried their advice in wooing ladies but got rejected. Or outshined by a noble. He wishes for someone to spend those long nights with. For someone who would bear his name as a part of their destiny. That idea gets his attention. He stumbles to his desk, looking for a notebook. He writes the thought down, hoping to use it in another poem. Maybe a one that would make him the lucky man at the end. 

Once its open he can only stare at his notebook. It’s full of snippets of his poetry. Things he has read that resonated with him, words he had seen floating around that seemed too good to ignore. If he is truly mad it would be better to use it. He wants to write more, to get better at it. He makes a decision. 

* * *

He asks his father to let him study in a bigger city. He tells him about opportunities it will give him to find something of interest to trade. How it will broaden his horizons. Bernard supports him in this, as he did with everything else. He helps him with writing official letters, often curbing Julian’s too theatric style. Together they decide what to pack and what to leave. A part of Julian wants to stay, to lean on his older brother forever. But he knows he can’t. Not if he wants to find out what those letters mean. Before he goes, he decides to have a look at his brother’s fate. During the last of their outings to an inn, he studies Bernard. Like with all other people his letters also move with him, dancing around him and forming sentences. Julian tries to be discreet and not stare too much. 

“I’ve heard from Maria. Sorry, it turned out like that.” Bernard tells him over ale. 

“So am I. But the adventure I had was enough to cure my heart of any lingering afflictions.” 

“Singing thugs into surrender... You truly have a gift. I hope it will flourish in Oxenfurt.” 

They sit in comfortable silence. Bernard finally notices the scrutiny and smile encouragingly. 

“You know you are always going to be welcome here.” 

“Of course. And I will make sure to check out the best brothels in Oxefurt for you.” 

“Ha, before you get there I will probably be engaged. Father keeps pestering me about Ms Ledvoux. There is no way he isn’t planning something.” 

“Surprise marriage?” 

“I hope not. I want to secure my position with our trading deals first. Offering a wife, a life of luxury only to fail to deliver would be truly awful.” 

“Well, your life certainly could get worse.” Julian winks. 

“Yes, yes. Women and a living hell. Aren't’ you the one that always guards lady’s honour?” 

“I certainly am. But a chance to tease my older brother doesn’t come often.” 

Bernard takes a sip of his drink. It’s good ale, not to bitter. There is a sweetness to it, that is made more prominent by its pure golden colour. The inn they’ve chosen is one of the best ones in the city. Spending their last evening together is a special occasion after all. 

Julian looks at his brother and grits his teeth. He can read all that is connected to his brother’s fate. He tries not to scream as he reads about too early demise, about the sorrow that Bernard will bring to his remaining family. He tries desperately not to show how he is remembering every word just so he will change it later into something better. Something beautiful and kind, something his brother deserves. Not that hammer, not the thing he had seen so long before without even knowing what it was. 

“July? You got lost again?” Bernard catches his attention. “A pretty lady is trying to get your attention and you aren’t even blushing.” 

“I don’t blush! You should know that my experience with ladies has cured me of such behaviour.” 

“Sure. I would believe you if you weren't seventeen.” 

Julian hums but after a second grins back at his brother. He will make everything right. As soon as he gets his hands on a quill and parchment, he is going to change his brother's life. 

“It isn’t my fault that all of the ladies deem me too kindhearted to bed. I think they would hate to break my heart ones the night is gone.” 

“That’s the worst excuse I’ve heard, little brother. But sure, it can be your kind-heartedness.” 

“My too good looks always sound like a good one.” 

“Your beautiful voice?” 

“Hey! Don’t joke about it! I’m going to make a fortune out of it.” 

Bernard nods with a condescending smile. 

“I hope you will change your name before that. I wouldn't want to be accused of using your fame, of course.” 

“Change my name? Are you saying you would be ashamed to be known as the brother of the Great Julian? The Bard of the ages?” 

“Bard? I thought you wanted to study music.” 

“Study and create my own! Something that everyone will know.” 

“In that case, Julian the Great isn’t the most catchy name. Try something that rolls of the tongue easier. Maybe just go with July? Junes?” 

“Your pet names from back when I was five aren’t the best stage names. I hope you know that.” 

“So maybe something more artistic. Jaded. January. Jasmine.” Bernard starts counting on his fingers. 

“Okay, now you are just listing words starting with ‘J’” Julian catches his brothers hands. “Give me a second. I will think of something.” 

Bernard tries to look like a patient older brother, but his smile betrays his mirth. 

“Jaskier,” Julian tells him finally. 

“Jaskier. Sounds good. See, better than the full name.” 

“Yes, yes. I will be sure to omit it during my exiting exploits.” 

* * *

As they leave the inn Julian notices something odd. It is quiet, too quiet for a city street. There should be laughter and music coming from other buildings. They stagger towards their home, but the younger brother keeps looking over his shoulder. He feels that something isn’t right, the letters too dark to read. It always happens when he drinks, they get almost translucent. 

Besides the lack of sound, the night is normal for late spring. The air is crispy but not as cold as it was during the last few months. The wind picks up from time to time, making dust dance on their path. With nothing more than moonlight and some lanterns stationed far between there is nothing to light their path. 

Without the words, he feels naked. They do not show him the way back home. They don’t whisper to him their tales of rocks and houses. There is silence. 

“Bernard, I don’t think we should be heading home now.” 

“You have to leave tomorrow. And we don’t have enough coin to drink. Come on.” 

“I know. I just. It’s too quiet.” 

Bernard snorts. He keeps tugging on Julian, making him follow into the darkness. 

“Once you get to Oxenfurt you are going to miss the quiet.” 

They round a corner when Julian knows that he was right. There was something wrong. Waiting for them are those three men he saw after his performance for Maria. They seem to be waiting for him. 

He can finally hear it. He can feel it. Small claws biting into the skin of his ear as the words crawl out. 

“The witch is here. Come on, before he opens his mouth.” 

‘Revenge’ remains unsaid 

Just like that both of the brothers are wide awake. Bernard moves to a side and takes Julian with him. 

“Run!” 

Their attackers have their knives out and waiting to see what they are planning to do with them wasn’t the smartest option. The duck into an alley and keep on running. Bernard keeps pushing Julian forward while desperately looking around. They burst into another alley. 

“A guard post. We have to get there.” 

It isn’t that far from them. Julian tries to run faster, tries to ignore noises coming from behind them. Their attackers are in pursuit. Just before another alley, his brother makes a distressed sound. Julian looks behind his shoulder to see his brother on his knees. He has his hand stretched out and blood pouring out of his mouth. 

“Run, Julian!” He rasps. 

And Julian does, but he still hears the crunch of a falling hammer. He leaves his town the very next day. 


	2. Chapter 2

Studying in Oxenfurt is everything he has hoped it to be, while also being not enough. He loves the market, the inns. So many nice smells, soft fabrics and ears to listen to his songs. He can get any book he has ever wanted. He can spend all day drinking or in the library. There are many other young, wild-eyed students going around, trying to make sense of it all. No matter what subject they study they share a sense of being lost in a big city. There are many streets to get lost on, many streets that seem to change locations. At least the place that sells the best beer doesn’t change. During the first few weeks, Julian finds a merchant who sells spices just like the ones he got back home. He keeps them as his most guarded treasure. He also looks for anyone knowing anything about the words dancing around them. He is met with nothing but stares. He doesn’t ask his professors, not at first at least. But during one of the lectures, one topic piques his interest. 

“The music of the spheres it is called. Everything in this world makes a sound, but we are too accustomed to it to hear it. But if we could we would be able to hear every being sing to us, everything, be it a rock or a house would have its own tune. Of course, with no proof that this theory was soon forgotten. These days it is nothing more than a curiosity.” 

They move to another subject. Julian waits till the end of the lecture to ask questions bothering him. 

“How did they reach that conclusion?” He asks the professor. 

She is a small woman, dressed in a comfortable-looking toga. She looks to be over seventy, but her quick mind has often been a thorn in students’ sides. 

“Which one, Mr Kornewski?” 

“The one about everything playing its music. If they couldn't hear it, how could they know?” 

“It was pure speculation. Or better, a true theoretical concept. Those who believed in the music of the universe could very well show you mathematical proof of it. But since you can’t feel a mathematical proof it was forgone with time.” The professor looks at him and down. “Can I ask where is this curiosity coming from?” 

Julian thinks about telling her of the words moving around them. Of the ones dancing next to her. They could tell him her future if he only let them. He doesn’t. 

“I think I have heard about the concept before. Do you believe in fate, professor?” 

She looks surprised at his question. Yet she doesn’t answer at once, even raising her hand to signal she needs a moment to think. 

“I don’t know. Even if fate is true, I can’t foresee the future. And since I don’t know the fate how real is it for me?” 

“And if you could? See the future. Would that mean that fate is true? And we can do anything about it?” 

“Then I would...” Her brow furrows. “Then I would treat the fate as a guideline. After all, even by acting like something must happen we make it more probable to happen. The opposite is also true, which means that avoiding fate may also change it.” 

“Thank you. I’ve struggled with these questions for a while.” 

“Of course. I may not see how this is connected to the music of the spheres but I was happy to help.” She quips. 

* * *

  
  
After a few months, it gets better and Julian has found his pack of friends. They study art together, and while some of them are more interested in the theory of it, others want to create. Julian tells them that he likes to keep his options open, that he has created some songs but nothing too impressive. He even finds himself a lover. A girl his age, with eyes as blue as the sky and laugh so beautiful any bird would be jealous. He writes her poems, composes melodies for her songs, but never sings for her. She takes it in stride, understanding and supportive. Rosa is her name and Julian is sure her life will be a happy one. 

“My brother won’t shut up once I tell him my boyfriend is a poet.” She tells him one afternoon, as they sit in her room. 

Julian keeps on playing with his lute while writing down any notes that struck him as interesting. 

“Did he expect someone else?” He writes down another note, this one perfect for a battle melody. 

“A merchant perhaps. Or someone wealthy. He always says I have expensive needs.” 

Julian looks up. The Rosa he knows is too caught up in the world of art to care about wealth. She even forgets to eat when she is The Mood. 

“Libraries let you read books for free.” He notices. 

“Yes, but it is hard to find a job for a woman who can read but isn’t a sorceress. And parchments and quills cost money.” 

"What about teaching? Which your patience and lovely attitude you can take care of both young lads and older students.” 

She stands up from her comfy chair to stand next to him. Her brown hair shines under the soft caresses of setting sun. The words flutter around her, sure and sweet. ‘love’ and ‘duty’ and ‘children’ chase each other like puppies. 

“You think so? I’ve thought about it, but it’s been more of a dream of mine than a real plan.” 

Julian takes her hand in his and kisses her knuckles. She chuckles and lets him nuzzle into her palm. 

“I’m sure. You will make a great teacher.” 

“And what about you? Will you stay here and teach with me?” 

The thing is, Julian doesn’t know. There are no letters telling him of his future. There is the only certainty that he isn’t a part of Rosa’s. 

“You know me, I have big trouble with a commitment to one thing. Even choosing one subject to study is too much!” 

“At least you can commit to me.” 

Rosa doesn't hear him sing until his favourite professor asks him to.   
He writes his act very carefully. All in all, he has been perfecting it since coming to the academy. So, when the time comes, he makes sure everyone is listening and only then he starts singing.   
He sings of a swift recovery. Of a strong man who has suffered a lot. He sings about his dear wife and their big house. How even when they are both busy they still find time to spend with their children. How that man was a hero, a hero that has never before gotten his song. His heroics aren’t the battles he won, but the simple kindness he has bestowed on everyone. That man tries to be more than just wealthy and cares for more than just his closest family. He has such a big heart that he finds a place there for his servants and beggars sitting under his house. The scars from his injuries don’t fade completely, but they don’t make his life too miserable.   
Once he finishes there is silence. The words he has plucked from the air and made into reality has left a void of sound behind them. He stands there, in the middle of that void, and looks at his audience. There are no tears, only awe and maybe some jealousy. He wonders if his singing will bring the results he so desperately needs. 

“Nothing special, my ass.” One of his friends exclaims. “Sorry, professor.” 

“I would be better if you showed your appreciation differently. But I have to agree with the notion that our Julian knows quite well how to capture his audience.” 

Julian nods bashfully. He’s had some practice with his lute but he couldn’t bring himself to sing when he didn’t have a clear goal in mind. 

“A little heavy.” Someone else adds. 

“Not everything has to be brothel songs.” 

“It was perfect,” Rosa speaks up, gently wiping her face. 

She is smiling at Julian, even though there is sadness in her eyes. This talk gives Julian a pause. He thinks about writing songs with the only intention of making people happy, songs telling stories of days long past. 

“I will be sure to include all of your lovely ideas in my next song.” He promises. 

“I think we all will be happy to hear more from you. But for now, let’s move from to a topic that Julian’s writing has picked on. Emotions. How do you try to convey emotions in music?” 

They move their sits back into the original position and try guessing before the lecturer tells them about the most current theory. Julian sits in the back, scribbling notes about love. Writing about love shouldn't have any downsides. It won’t involve any character changes like that dreadful song. He fills something in the back of his throat. The question of trying to figure out his power through experience has kept him up at night for months. But meddling with people’s lives just to make sure how powerful he is doesn’t sit right with him. But the love songs, especially those about one-night stands seem pretty harmless. He writes down the word ‘love’ and starts looking for rhymes. Rosa looks over his shoulder and gently nudges him to listen to their lecture. 

* * *

  
  
Writing about love turns out to be a disaster. Which shouldn't have surprised him as much as he did? On accident, he has broken marriage between two noble houses by just singing to their daughter about how much sweeter is a life with a lover. The advantage of the whole situation was that she fell in love with him. He gently turned her down, not wanting to hurt Rosa. His words had proved time and time again to have the ability to influence people’s mind. Which could mean both great things for his career and certain risks.

“That could have gone better.” Fredrick comments. 

He is the only one left, beside Rosa, of their original group. Others have moved on, to work or just left. He is over a head taller than Julian and looks twice as strong. Even though his arm is as wide as Julian’s tight he can bring the softest tunes out of any instrument he touches. He is also the biggest gossip Julian has ever met. 

“She should have known, Fred! I am with Rosa. No talk about it.” 

“Yes, yes. But you sang to her, a very sensual song about a lover’s touch. Have you ever done that for Rosa?” 

“No? It was just practice. You know it.” 

“I know it, you know it. But the engagement has already been broken.” 

“Ugh” Julian sits down the net to the other man. “What should I do? Rosa knows about the whole thing. She finds it pretty hilarious. But here I am, having to let down a girl form the oldest family in Oxenfurt.” 

“Rosa? Who would have thought she could be that mean?” 

“I know! But that’s not the case. Come on, Fredrick. I don’t want to find a dead horse in my bed. Or any other creepy thing these nobles do to show their dominance.” 

Fredrick leans back and looks at the sky. They have chosen a secluded garden as their base of operation. Singing birds were supposed to make Julian feel better, but all he can focus on is keeping his head on his neck. 

“What about getting them back together?” 

“You mean Maya and her fiancée?” 

“Who else? You sang her out of love, now sing so she falls right back in.” 

Julian muses about it for a minute. 

“I have to write a really good song to make it work.” 

In the end, he moves from love songs to telling stories from the past. Or just happy tunes. Soon he gets to the gits of it. He writes down the rules, makes sure to always carry them in his pocket. First of all, he can’t sing to a person, use the pronounce ‘you’. Second of all if he put enough details about a person, he could influence their fate from without even mentioning their name. And there was always the risk of his prophecy getting in conflict with a really strong fate, as he called it. If he sings something that is very out of tune with the person’s fate it would come back to bite his ass. In some cases, like with Bernard, it would even change the fate of those closest to him.   
So, he keeps singing but always checks the crowd for any trigger points. He finds it easier to do with people he doesn’t know so once he graduates, he decides to start travelling the country. Rosa sits on his bed, while he packs what he values the most. His best clothes and his lute. A notebook safe under his clothes. 

“I hope you will find what you are looking for.” She tells him. 

Once again there is sadness in her eyes and he hates himself for putting it there. He doesn’t feel worth her quiet support. 

“I hope so too.” He kneels in front of her and takes her hands into his. “And I know you will find what you’ve been looking for.” 

“Oh, Julian.” She shakes her head. “I’ve never been looking, not like you.” 

After he leaves, he looks for stories that already happened. Makes sure not to sing of famine in the middle of the cold winter. At first, he doesn’t make much, since he only sings songs he already knows by heart. Only as he moves south, learns more songs does he start to make coin. Still, he makes do.   
Until one day the letters around his change. They are no longer golden, but white. He has never seen his own words, but there, collecting some rotten vegetables he suddenly knows he has found his fate. It has a form of a Witcher, sitting in the back and watching him with golden eyes. The letters hum and dance around them as he gets closer. There it is. His name dancing around someone. 

And even when he gets punched, he still considers himself lucky. He trails after the Witcher, trying not to sing about fate and love. He can see pain and loss written in The Witcher’s words, but he also knows for certain that he is a part of that man’s life. And he can see a child. And love. And nights spend together under the stars. For the first time, he doesn’t have to change anything. Everything is going to be perfect. So, he talks, talks even more than usual. If he doesn’t, his song will come out.

And he will be helpless to stop it. He would never try to stop something so beautiful. But he doesn’t want to jinx it. He smiles and talks instead. 

“There is something off about you.” Geralt tells him one evening. 

They have been walking from one village to another and Julian has been looking for good rhymes to ‘blood’ and ‘glory’. 

“Thank you, kind sir. That’s very nice of you.” He snarks with a grin. 

“Don’t play with me, bard. My medallion has been picking up magic around you.” 

“Maybe it's my magical talent. Or my miraculous wit.” 

“Hmm” There is no judgment in the Witcher’s eyes but he keeps up on observing Julian. 

The bard, since he can finally start calling himself that, wants to tell him the truth. That since he was child words have choked him time and time again. Words that spoke of things that would happen. And that he could change those words, write some of his own. He could rewrite fate. But he stops himself every time he thinks about bringing it up. Which is to say, never. He doesn’t want to speak about it. Not to Geralt, who sneers at fate. 

“Or it may be that magical stone I’ve swallowed as a child. Nearly choked on it, if I remember correctly.” 

“At least your voice didn’t suffer because of that.” 

“Yes, at least... Hey, are you saying I should have choked on that?” 

Geralt only blinks at him, but Julian can see amusement hidden behind those golden eyes. 

“I will have you know my mother made me keep a vow of silence for nearly a week. I survived it with honour, although with a little bit of struggle.” 

“Only a little?” 

“Enough to call it an honourable deed.” 

Geralt snorts but doesn’t press on. He lunges next to the fire or does the closest thing a Witcher does to lunging. He resembles a wolf in more than a nickname. Once he knows his pack is safe he can rest. He keeps his gaze on both Roach and Julian, to make sure they do stay safe. But it is the lowering of his shoulders and a slight easing of his brow that show he is truly resting. He looks truly beautiful, his white hair illuminated by white words dancing around. Those that keep appearing the most, like ‘witch’, ’child’, ‘surprise’ and the most important ‘Jaskier’ are as much a part of him as his golden eyes. Julian wonders when he will be ready to share his true name, instead of that moniker he took. He cannot help but wonder if that will change their fate. If the words next to Geralt’s heart will change.   


* * *

  
  
When he loses his voice, he doesn’t know whatever he should be thankful or terrified. With it gone the words spin and spin around him and there is nothing he can do. He wants to write them down, but he is dying and what difference will it make if he dies from his throat being ripped open or words bursting free. He claws at Geralt, tries to convey how much pain he is feeling. Then they reach the witch and Geralt is making sure everything is going to be alright. 

In the end, the whole mess with Yennefer makes him want to vomit. Not only because he sees it as a rejection of his own feelings. That also hurts, but he knows that he had a head start on the whole falling in love thing. He can wait for Geralt to come around. It is the moment that Geralt says his wish and later appears unharmed while bedding the witch. Because Julian can see the words changing, but not in a gentle, nice way. Instead of the usual light that appears each time his songs change fate, it is more forceful, like someone has taken a knife and carved out the old words. The world struggles to adjust and Julian struggles with it. All that because of Geralt’s wish. He can finally talk about his problems, albeit not straightforwardly. He follows after the Witcher, of course.

They leave the village and move to another to find some work for both of them. Julian can’t look at his companion, too scared of what he will see. What if he sees nothing? What if that spell destroyed Geralt’s fate forever? But once they settle for the night, he knows he has to. So, he looks and final breaths. Words are there. Unchanged. Even if the wish has changed the world, Geralt’s fate seems to be unchanged. His relieved sigh is met with risen eyebrows. 

“The spell should have cured everything.” Geralt looks a little uncertain. 

“Yes, yes. I think that the day is finally catching up with me. Lots of things going on. Not a lot of them fit for a merry song.” 

“Hmm.” 

“And I just felt relieved to sit down, look at your handsome, scowly face and know everything is as it should be.” 

“Go to sleep, bard.” 

Julian smiles and does lie down. Instead of sleeping he observes Geralt and his words. He tries to see more than just those four he knew so well. But before he can even focus enough, he is asleep.   
In the morning they move on. They find a tavern since even Geralt can see benefits of a warm fire and a proper bed from time to time. Julian sings that night, to earn their keep. The lashing rain makes people hurry inside and unwilling to leave which brings even more coin so they can get something to eat. He sings of a love that took its sweet time to bloom. He sings of hard times, but also of the light at the end of it. He sings of fate that isn’t a cruel mistress. 

“You believe in fate?” Geralt asks when he decided to have a break. 

“A year of travelling together and you only ask now?” 

“Hm.” 

“I am surprised. You always ask everyone about their opinion on fate, but not me. I was feeling neglected.” 

“Forget I asked.” 

Julian smiles and sees how his name twirls around the Witcher’s head. 

“No, no. To answer your question: if fate is something that cannot be changed, I don’t believe it. Everything changes, like every song that is repeated time and time again. The details change even if the overall message stays the same.” 

“Surprising answer for a bard.” 

“Did you expect some poem about lovers?” 

“Hm. Seems your style.” 

Julian shakes his head. 

“Believe it or not, I have seen lovers that no one would ever call destined to be together live their life together. And I’ve also seen a young couple, said to be created for each other, fall apart after weeks. What does fate mean to those who don’t know it?” 

Geralt nods, before turning back to his ale. Julian takes it as his cue to go back to singing. His songs change a little. He sings of battles and the White Wolf’s triumphs. He dances around with his hat, to make sure they even get enough money for another night. He looks up to make sure Geralt doesn’t pick up on his words slightly changing the fate of those around them. A gentler winter and more wheat are always a good blessing. 

* * *

  
  
They are passing through some unnamed village when suddenly a harpy attacks them. It is a huge beast, with claws as sharp as Geralt’s swords. The lack of villagers working alongside the road should have tipped them off that something was wrong. Yet they are bot equally surprised when a loud screech is heard over them. Julian ducks without being told to, his survival instincts kicking in. But it turns out to be too late, there are redness and pain and he can’t feel his shoulder. He falls to his knees while trying to turn around to see his back. Geralt is there, his sword raised. He even makes sure that Roach is guarding Julian against the other side. 

“Stay down.” He commands. 

Julian wants to answer, to tell him he wouldn't dream of moving even if the king asked him to. Instead, he makes a gargled sound and sits back on his haunches. His lute was on the shoulder and appears unharmed. He cradles it like a child, pain making him curl up into a ball. He hears the sound of blade meeting claws. Hears more screeching. He blocks it all out and tries to focus on the words. To hear what they have to tell about the near future. He listens to the grass, red from his blood, softly singing of growth and horses. He listens to the earth, trumped down but carriages. It only speaks of more boots going over it. But then he hears Roach. She is even gentler with her song. She is Geralt’s and Geralt is hers. And this creature, bleeding out in front of her is also theirs as much as they are his. And she knows she will guard him until they are safe. But she also can pick up on the sound of wings flopping, on a predator flying lower and lower to catch his prey. She will stand in its way, to protect what is hers.   
Julian moves. It hurts, it hurt. It hurts. But Roach shouldn't have to suffer for him. So he uncurls, tries to stand. He can still hear Geralt’s sword and his curses. He doesn’t risk looking back, instead focuses on reaching Roach’s saddle. With its help he stands, his left arm hanging uselessly by his side. 

“Come on, girl” He whispers and guides Roach forward. 

She knows where to go. With him moving around she can guide them to safety. Then there is that harpy coming from the sky, ready to drag them to her lair. Roach buckles and throws Julian back to the ground. He stared up at her surprised. But she knows what she is doing. She turns and throws her back legs out, kicking the oncoming monster. 

“Bravo!” He throws his hands up only to feel the pain again. 

With a curse, he cradles his arm back to his body. Behind him, the fighting has mostly stopped and Geralt is looking around to make sure nothing else will jump out on them. 

“Geralt?” Julian calls out. “I think I’m going to pass out.” 

There is a grunt behind him, a sound of doors opening. But more importantly, a warm hand on his good shoulder that makes sure he doesn’t hit the ground when he falls.   
  
  
He wakes up a day later. At least that’s what the innkeeper’s daughter tells him. He has been patched up by the Witcher and said Witcher has gone to find herbs for a potion for him. Until then he is supposed to stay put in his bed. 

“When did he leave?” 

“Just a few hours ago, sir. He took care of you, then collected money from the elder. He didn’t say when he would be back.” 

“Soon probably. Could you get me something to eat?” 

“Of course.” 

She leaves him alone in the small room. Its wooden floor gives a groan of protest as he stomps on it uncaringly. With light coming from the only window and some illuminating from the fireplace Julian tries to assess his wounds. He still feels lots of pain and can’t move his arm. But the pain only makes him want to grind his teeth, instead of puking. He counts it as a good sign. The bandages cover his arm so he has no way of seeing the wound. That in itself isn’t a bad thing since he could probably faint if he had seen it.   
He moves his gaze to the room. Like always what hits him first are the letters. Telling him how long he will spend in this room when Geralt will be back. That last thing catches his attention, so he reads into them.   
‘heavy’ ‘ horse smell’ ‘blood’ ‘wolf’ dance somewhere behind the ‘bread’ ‘water’ so he guesses he has time to eat. Besides his bed and a fireplace, there is a stool and a basin in the corner. While thinking about hot water touching his sweaty skin Julian realizes how dirty he is. Dirt from the road, mixed with bits of his blood and sweat. Suddenly he desperately wishes for a bath. He could always keep his arm outside. Maybe he can ask the girl to fill it with water. There are light steps outside of his door and then she is back. In her hands, there is fresh bread, cheese and some dish filled with water. 

“Here you go, sir.” 

She puts it on a table next to the bed. He nods while thanking her under his breath. 

“Could you be the most helpful and beautiful woman in my life and fill the basin with water? Bath is something I would kill for currently.” 

“I’m sorry, sir. Mr Witcher said you shouldn't leave this bed.” She hangs her head. 

“Please, drop the sir. I’m Jaskier. What is your name dear?” 

“Iza.” 

“Alright, Iza. I get it, you are scared of the big bad Witcher. Don’t be. He is after all just looking after me. He is like a big mother hen, you know? One with big swords, but still. He fusses too much.” 

Iza looks up and tries to smile. She doesn’t look older than fifteen. Harsh weather has made her skin dry and her hair is jungled in a messy ponytail. She looks like she could be quite a heart-breaker. 

“Thank you, for the food. I will be sure to include a story of a kind innkeeper's daughter in my next song.” He winks at her and she fully grins. 

“That would be... amazing.” She gushes. “Can I do something else for you? Bring you something?” 

“No, no. I’m alright. I think I will eat and rest.” 

She nods and moves to leave. Only then do they both notice another presence in the room. Geralt is standing in the threshold, with a bunch of flowers and leaves in his hand. He looks from the bard to the girl with an unreadable expression. 

“Bring a pot here. Fill it with water.” He commands in a stern voice as he moves inside. 

The girl moves by him, all nervous energy making her jumpy. Once she disappears down the stairs Julian sighs. 

“And here I was, making sure everyone knows that you are just a big softy underneath.” 

“I am not. I am also not a mother hen.” Geralt tosses the leaves on the stull and goes on taking his armour off. 

“So you heard that? Eavesdropping isn’t nice.” 

“Hmh” 

Julian takes the bread that Iza left for him and start eating. His eyes follow each of Geralt’s movement, tracking parts of revealed skin with hunger. He wants to touch, he wants to tell Geralt that even without any stupid wish their fates are intertwined. 

“Is Roach okay? He asks instead. 

“She is fine. They have given her the best feed they had.” 

“She sure deserves it. Did you see how masterfully she took care of that harpy? She is the best horse I have ever met. Better than most people even.” 

Geralt grunts his agreement. He finally takes his undershirt off. Julian brakes away from googling his chest when he realises that Geralt hasn’t changed from the fight the day before. There are some fresh scars along his forearms, that weren’t there before. 

“Did they heal on his own?” He asks. 

Geralt follows his gaze. “Yeah.”   
Julian looks up at his face. Golden eyes avoid his. 

“Geralt..” Before he can continue, say his thanks or something else, Iza comes in with a pot. 

“Here’s the pot, Mr Witcher.” She says and quickly flees.   
With the spell broken Geralt takes to make his potion. He knows what he is doing, chopping down part of the herbs he is going to need and pushing away others. Soon the pot is sitting in the fireplace and a nice smell feels the bedroom. 

“Did you at least get good money for this hunt?” 

“Enough for two nights.” 

It pulls a laugh out of Julian. He almost lost his life for two night they have to spend with him healing after it. Geralt looks equally amused when he turns back to look at his bard.   


* * *

  
  
Their visit to Cintra is both a catastrophe and a miracle. On the one hand, he gets to rub Geralt’s lovely bottom. And to see him smile. On the other, he can’t shake the coldness he feels every time he thinks of Paveta. The ceremony is mostly fine, with well-rehearsed songs falling from his lips without a tremble. He jumps around and puts on the best show he can. Everyone is there to celebrate, maybe make a little bit of fun out of each other. After all most of the men will get rejected so they have to come out of it with something. The food is good and even Geralt behaves well. Julian looks at him at every occasion he has, just to make sure the Witcher is there. He can feel something bad coming, just like he could all those years ago.

To his surprise, it doesn’t come in the form of some disaster or harm, but in a form of forbidden love. He thinks about singing then, about making their path a happy one. But just then he looks at Paveta. He sees death written all over her. And he wants to run to her, to tell her about it, to tell her mother about it. But he doesn’t. He isn’t like his aunt, he isn’t mad. He hides behind a pillar and tries to sing instead. And just as he is finding the right tune a blast hits him. Paveta’s power shakes the castle and only after it is all over does he regain his footing enough to do anything about that damn prophecy. He chases after Geralt. He knows that it isn’t the right moment to tell him about himself, but he wants to convey the urgency of their situation. If he really wants to take care of his child-surprise he cannot leave. There is death coming for her parents. 

“Not now, Jaskier.” 

“Geralt, wait. Wait. Listen to me. If you want to help that child...” 

“Help? What would it need helping with? They will be royalty. An old Witcher isn’t needed here.” 

Geralt stomps away, not even shortening his pace to let Julian keep up. 

“First of all, you aren’t old. Second of all wait damn you I can’t talk and run.” 

“You seem to be doing an excellent job of it.” 

“Geralt. Gods. Geralt it is destiny. She is your destiny.” Before he can even end the sentence Geralt pushes him against the wall. 

“Destiny doesn’t exist, bard. Keep singing your songs, but don’t try to make me believe in something that isn’t there.” With that, he leaves. 

Julian waits, leaning against the wall. He can feel his heart thumping against his ribcage. He isn’t afraid of Geralt, never was. But now he knows he needs to do it on his own, which truly makes him scared. He finally decides to move and leave the castle. Geralt probably went to the inn in which they left their things. Julian hopes he wouldn't leave before morning.

He moves back into the main hall, to get his lute and quickly leaves before anyone takes notice of him. He goes down the street and starts singing. At least he tries to. Time and time again he sings about Paveta, tries to change her fate but he can’t. The words get stuck in his throat and he actually chokes on them a few times. The closer he grows to their inn the more desperate he becomes. It has never happened before. Even if the consequences of his singing were dire, he could always sing. But there is no use. The words don’t come out.

He relents after trying for the tenth time. He comes into the room he shares with Geralt to find the Witcher laying on his back. Without speaking to him Julius starts to take his clothes off. When he gets his shirt off something lands on his bed. He recognizes the salve, he knows Geralt uses for his injuries. When he looks up the other man grumbles a quick ‘for the cuts’ and turns into his side. With a slight smile, he gets on treating the injuries he got from Paveta’s outburst. Even if his inability to help still lingers on his mind he feels better. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a simple two chapter story. But the more I write the bigger this thing gets. I guess Jaskier is just too fun to write <3


	3. Chapter 3

And there is the mountain. During the climb, Borch looks at him with gentle eyes. The old man even seems to want to talk to him, but with Yennefer around Julian can’t focus. He knows that she knows. Well, she knows something. He tries not to sing when she is around. But sometimes he can feel words slipping by, or adding a certain strength to his simple sentences. Power seeks power. And she is a powerful witch, looking for even more power. He can see the pain written all around her. He can also see Geralt, and to his surprise, himself. That also brings a smile on his face. They are a packed deal, his Witcher and him. But when one night Geralt leaves to follow after her, Borch finally approaches him. 

“They say that dragons are rare. What you have is even rarer, my friend. A truly terrifying gift.” The older man sits down next to him. 

“I hope you aren’t talking about my voice. I really hope it isn’t that terrifying.” 

“Your voice, yes. But also the things you see. The things you can read, out of thin air.” 

Julian startles so badly he almost falls off the fallen tree he used as his perch. 

“How do you even know it?” His voice is nothing more than a hushed whisper. 

He is desperate to learn more. Someone knows what his power is. Someone can tell him something about it. But he also looks around, desperate to make sure Geralt isn’t listening in. 

“You can say I have a special connection with fate myself. And I have heard of people like you, if not seen them myself. Oracles that could tell the future. None of them could play it as you can. In this you are unique.” Borch hums at the back of his throat. “Most of them were cursed. A gift such as yours must have its drawbacks. No one believed their fortunes. Others were destined to only see the bad things happening. Can I ask, what is yours?” 

“My curse?” Julian looks around once again, before lining in. “I can’t stop. I have to let those words out. In other cases, they will claw at my throat.” 

“Which makes your choice of craft much more understandable.” Borch nods. “Can I ask you another thing?” 

“Sure. Just tell me. In those stories, did they ever get a happy ending?” 

“Not the ones I’ve heard. But most of them revolved around a woman with a gift which served as a precautionary tale. To know the truth, you would have to dig deeper.” 

“Oh. Of course. Your question?” 

“What do you see, when you look at me?” 

Julian turns and looks. He lets his focus wonder, instead of keeping Borch’s body in front of himself. And what he sees makes him gasp. If Geralt’s whiteness is something that takes his breath away, the colour spilling from the man in front of him is something else completely. Red and gold make the words shine. ‘honour’, ‘power’ but most important ‘fire’ burns at the centre of him. He isn’t surrendered by the words, he is the words itself. 

“You are magnificent,” Julian tells him with awe. 

As his luck dictates it is the same moment that Geralt decides to come back. He looks at them strangely, grunts and goes to his bedroll. Julian doesn’t take his eyes away from the creature sitting in front of him. Until said creature pats him gently on the arm. 

“Go, get some rest. Tomorrow morning we have to leave.”   


* * *

  
  
And then there is the end of their journey. Julian stands there with words swirling around him. Even though Geralt is in front of him they are no longer white. They are gold, just like they have always been. And Julian wants to sing. To sing and scream and make the world right. To change fate, to change the future and the present and the past. He wants to make those words disappear. Those he has just heard. He wasn’t all of that. But he knows better. He turns and leaves.   
He walks. Down, down the mountain. He walks and finds an inn. There he sings. He sings without care about lyrics. He sings words that appear in front of him. He sings and he thinks he hears someone crying. He earns his keep, even if the innkeeper looks a bit dazed while showing him his room, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t write down a word. He doesn't need to with all those words just waiting to be sung. He leaves his lute on a chair and collapses into the bed. When the morning comes he picks it up and leaves. He travels through the forest and sings. He sings the words of the trees which know that an army is going to pass between them. He sings the story of the rocks that will be upturned when the horses trot over them. He sings about the famine that will befall the town he has left behind. A thought comes to him. What he sees is the truth. What he has been trying to do was just an illusion. There is no use in crying over something true. There is no use having an opinion about facts. Crying after someone who was never his made no sense. So when he reaches the next inn he again sings their fate to them. And they don’t listen. They let him stay but it seems to a product of the strange state his singing has brought them into instead of any deeper thought about his music. He accepts it. He has sung stories without a deeper meaning before. They bring him the most coin. And these stories also have no deeper meaning. They are so simple even singing them makes him want to gag. Infidelity, petty jealousy, all that small in the comparison to the war that will come. War with all its glory, food shortages, refugees and illnesses. He seals the fate by singing it.   
Only when he sees a young mother, nursing a baby while he plays and plays does he change the tune. He still sings the words of death and war but adds hope at the end. It isn’t written in the words around them, but he finds that adding something is easier than changing fate completely. 

“You will survive and thrive. The times won't be easy, but in the end, your family will endure. You will find strength in yourself. And the care you have for your child is what will save you.” 

The mother looks at him surprised like she has seen him for the first time. Like he hasn’t been singing for hours. But then a quiet understanding sinks into her and she nods. Her face is determined, she will fight to the death for what is dear to her. With a little bit of luck on her side, she truly has a chance to survive it all. Julian nods and moves to another person that has caught his attention. A small lady, sitting near the window. She resembles his professor so much he has to take a double-take. Her words aren’t many. With so many years under her belt, it seems she is at the end of her journey. Still, there is love in her, love for her children and grandchildren. At a fate of sacrifice, she will make for them. 

“When the day comes the snow will be falling and you won’t feel the coldness. You will depart with your family around you, no use wondering out into the night. Death will come to you and those who you hold dear will survive the winter.” 

She looks at him and understanding settling once more. Her fate has been settled even before this, but now she can go the way she wanted. His words bring her peace. 

* * *

  
He doesn’t even remember how he got back. Back to the town he once called home. He walks the streets, quiet for a first time in days. His throat hurts from the among of songs that have fallen from his tongue. Sometimes he can even feel blood on his tongue, but he ignores its metallic taste in the favour of honey of words that want to fall. He walks through the main gate and goes to the market. There are people there, like always, but there is also a stench of war and fear surrendering them. They don’t talk as loudly as they used to. Children don’t run among the vendors but are kept close to their parents. No one raises their gaze when Julian walks among them. He looks at them and sees the same he has seen years ago. Some will die, some will live. Life is repetitive in its course. His feet take him back to his house next. He dreads it. Seeing his brother after so many years leaves him with foul taste in his mouth. At the same time, it is something else than the emptiness he has felt since Ger... since the mountain. He looks at his street and feels as if the houses have grown smaller. The street that once seemed wide enough to contain whole adventures now looks like an alley. His steps grow slower. And slower. Finally he stops in front of his house. Its walls have been repainted and the roof also looks new. The windows are cover by light curtains he is almost sure are the same his mother chosen. He wants to go in. He wants to run. He wants to fall into his brother’s arms and cry. He wants to be July again and for the world to just sing to him. 

“Julian?” He hears. 

He is frozen. The time stops, there are no sounds. He is standing on the street, but at the same time he is hovering over himself. The world is created out of words and all of those words spell the same. 

“Brother.” He stumbles over the words. He has never expected to be able to say them again. 

“Oh, July.” 

He is turned and crushed into a hug. Strong arms are around him and the same smell of ink and horses envelopes him and he is home.   
It’s only his brother’s strong grip that keeps him stable. A hand ruffles his hair. 

“You don’t write. You don’t visit. I got scared you have out-grown being a younger brother.” Bernard squeezes him once again before stepping back.   
Julian doesn’t want to look at him. To see if how well the wounds have healed. But he must. He owes that to his brother. The same smart eyes look at him, as blue as his but even sharper. A wide smile is surrounded by wrinkles. And scars. Two of them run across Bernard’s face. One starts over his left eyebrow only to end on his right cheek, while the other just slashes across his left cheek. His posture is a little slouched, which makes them on the same eye level. He is also leaning on a cane, strongly held in one hand, while the other holds Julian’s arm. 

“I had to make a name for myself before I could visit.” 

“Jaskier and his famous songs. I have heard many of them. Come on in. You must meet my wife.” 

Bernard gently tugs at him and takes him inside. The short hallway just behind the doors seems even shorter. 

“Most of the staff working here is new, so I don’t think you will meet anyone you know. After nanny died and father followed shortly after most of them resigned. Decided to leave the rest of their lives with their family instead of working. At least what’s what they told me. Some of them even send their grandkids to work here.” Bernard chatters as they near the kitchen. 

He walks steadily with his cane. It’s made out of wood, with a metal handle shaped like a head of a dog. Maybe a wolf. No, it’s just a dog. 

“I would love to have you for dinner or even better, just stay the night.” 

Once they enter the kitchen his brother stops talking and finally looks back at him. He is smiling and with a proud glim in his eyes he motions towards a woman sitting on a stull with a child standing next to her. 

“Julian, meet my wife Agata and our son Bartosz.” 

There is an awkward silence for a second before the woman stands up. 

“Julian? It’s wonderful to finally meet you.” She wipes her hands with a rug laying on the table and walks closer. 

She has beautiful blond hair, braided so they won’t get in the line of working. Her full face and oval eyes give her a gentle look. Thick, straightly shaped eyebrows above them and a little quirk at the edge of her smile make her look constantly amused. 

“Likewise, madam. I am glad to see my brother’s taste in women has grown so much.” 

She snorts, before blushing. She raises her hand to hide her face, embarrassed at the sound that has left her lips. Bernard looks especially amused. 

“It was Agata’s taste in men that has brought us together. She has chosen me and then wooed me into marriage.” 

Bartosz follows after his mother, but stands just behind her while observing Julian with interest. 

“Hello there. It seems like I am your uncle.” Julian kneels and extends his hand. 

The boy looks unsure and glances up at his parents. His hair is almost white and his eyes seem to be even bluer than Julian’s. He has his mother’s round face, which makes him look like an angel. 

After getting an affirmative nod he gets closer and shakes Julian’s hand. 

“Maybe we should move to the living room.” Agata proposes. “I will make some tea.” 

“I don’t want to interrupt anything.” Julian rises to his full height. 

“I’m just showing Bartosz how to make dumplings. We can finish later, right?” She looks down with a smile. 

The child nods, still unsure with an unknown adult in his home. 

“Do you need any help?” Bernard asks his wife. 

“No, no. You two worry too much. Just go sit, I and my little knight will bring you tea in a minute.” She shakes her head with a smile. 

The brothers look at each other. Julian knows that look on Bernard’s face. He has been a cause of said look too many times not to know it. It is the ‘Oh well, I only hope you will not burn anything’ look. He feels a little bit suspicious of Agata’s skill in the kitchen but he follows his brother into the other room. 

“She has burnt three kettles,” Bernard explains once they sit down. He takes his place on a sofa, which left a love sit for Julian. 

The curtains are the same, but the whole room has been remade. It looks more to the modern standards Julian has seen in Oxenfurt. He wonders how well his brother’s business has been going. He even feels proud of his older sibling. 

“Happens to the most perfect of ladies.” 

“Apparently being a good cook isn’t a part of the ladyness package.” Bernard chuckles. “I wouldn't even say my lovely Aga even has something like that.” 

“She looked like a proper lady to me.” 

“You haven’t seen her ride a horse.” 

“I guess it is a sight to behold?” 

“It did make me look for a place with its own ranch. Unfortunately, with the war coming, there are no interested buyers for this house.” Bernard shrugs. “But that’s not what I’m currently interested in. What interests me is how my brother has been doing. Besides riding along with a Witcher.” 

Julian flinches back at the mention of Ger... of the Witcher. 

“Yes, well. We have gone our separate ways. A difference of opinions. Besides that, I’ve been good. Composing and playing most of my time. I even got a few gigs for nobility and kings.” 

“I’m proud of you.” Bernard shakes his head. “I would never believe my younger brother, with his love for hot baths, would one day travel on foot through the continent. I am really proud.” 

“Seriously? And not about the part of playing for the kings?” 

“That also. But it depends which kings.” 

Agata enters with teas neatly balances on a tray. Bartosz trails after her with a plate of biscuits in his hands. 

“The tea has been served.” She exclaims before putting it on a table between Bernard and Julian. 

She joins her husband and pats a place next to her. 

“Come on, sweetie. There is enough space for you.” 

Bartosz gently lies down the plate and hops down to his mother. 

“So, what did we miss?” 

“Julian was just telling me about his journeys.” 

“Oh, wonderful. If you don’t mind me asking, how does it feel to travel with a Witcher? We only hear about his glorious deeds, but it makes me wonder what kind of man he is.” 

Julian blinks. He blinks again. He doesn’t want to feel like crying. 

“He is a big worrywart. He can kill any beast with his blade, but if anything befalls his horse he gets really distressed. He mostly communicates with grunts and has a very strange sense of humor. He also makes sure others get to eat as much as he does, even though he is the one doing the heavy lifting. And he can hum very well. I’ve heard so many songs, old songs during our travels. And he knows stars and if he feels like it he can talk about them. And...” Julian feels out of breath. 

His face is dry, but he feels like his heart is breaking again. The words spin, each of them looking like an arrow pointing towards Geralt. 

“Oh, dear.” Agata looks at him with pity. “What have happened between the two of you?” 

Julian looks up, looks at his brother and her. He looks at their son. The boy looks back at him. Julian feels relief wash over him as he reads about the boys long life and happiness. He looks back at his parents. 

“We have parted ways.” 

“Why?” 

“I...” He looks at Bernard. There is only encouragement in his eyes. 

Even though the scars look even more prominent in the gentle light falling through the windows. He takes a breath and tells them everything.   
  


* * *

  
  
He stays for a few days. He plays with his nephew, helps Agata with her dumplings. She is really terrible with cooking, not because of the lack of enthusiasm. He tries not to offend her, but she keeps laughing at her own mistakes, which makes a smile appear on his face. Yet once she takes him for a ride across the nearby forest he has to give it to her. She seems to know what the horse is going to do even before the animal does. She shows him so wonderful places, in which he feels like writing again. Writing about nature, about the waterfalls and lilies. He wants to dance in the rain and hug his horse to feel its strong heartbeat. He likes Agata the most for just watching him with a smile, without any judgment as he runs from one tree to another. That’s not true. He likes her the most because there is a very visible ‘Bernard” written on her chest, with words as bold as “Bartosz” flying next to her arm. She loves his brother and that is enough. She also gives him the best advices. 

“He has to apologize.” She tells him as they sit in his brother’s study. 

“You can’t make anyone apologize, Aga.” Bernard breaks in. 

With Bartosz asleep, they can talk more openly. Good brandy has been opened for the occasion and they sip it as they talk. 

“He has done something terrible. But if he apologizes and Julian still wants him then it can get better.” 

“The problem is I don’t think he wants me.” 

“Don’t be foolish, July. If he didn’t want you around he would have left you behind.” 

“He did this time.” 

“After being rejected by someone who he thought was destined to be his. People do stupid things when they are distressed.” 

“Which doesn’t excuse him. He should still apologize.” 

“And she has been a part of his destiny. Even, even before the whole wish. Maybe even before I was.” 

“Or maybe they are going to just be friends. Especially after he almost made her be his by force. Making someone stay with you when you don’t want to isn’t fair.” Agata leans into her husband. “I am surprised that she didn’t curse him.” 

Julian shrugs. “I think at first she was overwhelmed by being alive. After that maybe it was the sex that kept her from anything drastic.” 

“You two...” Bernard shakes his head. “Let’s leave the witch to her own doings. What interests me, what are you going to do now July?” 

“I... I don’t know. Sing some more?” 

“More songs about lovers never destined to meet. Come on, you had ever better ideas back when you were fifteen.” 

“And let me remind you it led to a girl I liked marrying a noble.” 

Even Julian’s curls look flat. He curls on his sit, pulling his legs under his chin. Clothes given to him by Bernard are too big, but also comfortable and he tries to hide in them. They smell like home. 

“What about the child surprise? Even if your Witcher doesn’t feel like taking care of his responsibilities there is still a child needing his help. Needing any help.” 

“It’s not July’s responsibility.” 

“No, it’s not. But if you didn’t notice.” Agata voice drops down. “He needs purpose.” 

“It is my responsibility.” Julian looks up, his voice still unsure. “I didn’t do everything I could to make Geralt stay. I could have done so much more.” He doesn’t want to tell them about his gift. He has shared enough. 

“You may not be able to make Geralt do something he doesn’t want to. But you maybe act as an example.” 

“Wait. If there is a war you are the last person to be in the front. You can play a lute, not swing a sword. Think about it July.” 

“Yes, yes. Not swords. But isn’t the pen mightier than the sword?” Julian snorts at his brother’s deadpan face. “I know. But Agata is right. I need something to do. Something different than just coming and going from one inn to another. At least I will play for Calanthe.” 

“Just please, be careful.” 

“I will be. After all I want to teach Bartosz how to play. Maybe give him some good advice about singing. You know, be the uncle I am supposed to be.” 

“Yes, that would be good.” Bernard smiles a little hopelessly. “I know there is no stopping you. Just visit sooner than in a next ten years.” 

“Of course. Bernard, I am. I am sorry.” 

“Don’t. There is nothing for you to be sorry about.” 

Julian shakes his head erratically. He moves forward, to kneel in front of his brother. He takes one of his hands in his and looks up. 

“They came for me. And yet, you were the one struck, the one to deal with everything. And then dad’s death. And nanna’s. I should have stayed. I should have been the one to deal with the consequences...” 

Bernard stands up, pulling Julian to his feet. He hugs him with more strength than necessary. Breath leaves Julian’s lungs. 

“Stop. I am glad it was me. Thanks to it I’ve met the woman of my life. You got to study in the place of your dreams. The only thing that could have been better was getting a letter from you from time to time. But you are here now. Even if there was anything to forgive it would have been forgiven a long time ago.” 

Julian doesn’t answer, too choked upon his words. 

“You always have a place here. You can stay here, even now.” 

“Thank you.” He barely manages to speak. 

They stay like that for a minute longer, before Bernard gently leads Julian back to his sit. 

“I would like that. To stay with you, get to know Agata” Julian nods at the woman who smiles “and Bartosz. But I feel like I need to go back to the road. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize. Just know you can always go back here.”   
  


* * *

  
  
He leaves and sings his way through the country. He is walking towards Cintra and he isn’t alone. A whole army is heading the same way. Soon even before he reaches a village people are waiting for him. 

“He brings war with him. Don’t let him in. Better to just kill him.” He hears around himself. 

He wants to argue. To say that the words just tell the future, it is he who tries to change it. But he doesn’t. With time he tries going back to his old songs. To those, he has learned or written before the mountain. But there is no spirit in it. Nothing to bring fire to those songs. An inkling of hope appears when those song mention brothers, but it’s still too weak. Instead, he sometimes forgoes singing about the nearest, grim future and jumps to the times that will come long after that. He decides it is a white lie, to act as if those times are nearer. To his surprise, even Nilfgaardian troops know of him. 

“That’s the one. He knows the future.” He hears them whisper as he goes through their camp. “Should we bring him to the White Flame?” 

But no one dares to touch him. He passes the troops singing about the home that awaits them. About summer and heat and a lover’s touch. He tells them that the sooner they get back, the sooner they will have it. But not all of them. Too often he walks right next to a dead soldier who doesn’t even know they are dead. They will fall in the next battle. So, he sings to them about brotherhood and fighting with honor. He tells them that death in battle is magnificent and that their sacrifice will be remembered. Once there is an old soldier, with dead eyes and more scars than skin. He sits next to the watchtower and observes Julian with his sword poised against his leg. 

“Stop singing, you siren. Your words can’t do anything to me.” 

Julian looks at him. The words tell him one story, but the tries to look past them. It has been a long time since he focused only on the real world. There is a man in front of him. Black armor, corroded with age. He has served three kings. The one that sits on the throne now being the one he truly believes in. But he has served the usurper which makes him a traitor. He is ashamed of that. He wants to die for his new king. To cleanse himself. Yet he is too afraid to die. He has buried his whole family, leaving only him, his amour and the sword leaning against his leg. 

“You don’t want to die,” Julian tells him matter-of-factly. “You want to serve.” 

“I said shut up.” The big man stands. 

He is taller and broader than Julian. Probably taller than Geralt. His black amor makes him look like a big bear, ready to attack. 

“I am not signing, but speaking to you. As I would to another human being.” Julian hangs his lute on his shoulder. “Is there something in particular that you’ve wanted to talk to me about?” 

“You.” The soldier deflates a little. “Tell me, what the hell are you doing? To those men.” 

He motions to people gathered behind Julian. They do look dazed, like most of the people after hearing their fate. Most won’t believe it, some may use it to be better. That isn’t Julian’s concern. 

“I tell them what I can read about them.” 

“So you are what? Just a fortune-teller?” 

“Not just. I am a fortune-teller and a bard. A quite good one, if I can say so myself.” 

The man looks irritated. 

“So tell me. Tell me about my future.” 

“You will die for your king. You will do it while rescuing your commander. You will be remembered.” 

The knight laughs. 

“Is that all? And are there any beautiful maidens waiting for me after death?” 

“No. But your son is.” 

The man startles. 

“How did you?” 

Julian takes that as his cue to start singing again. He could stand around and argue with this man, but he has more important tasks to accomplish. Like finding the Cub of Cintra for example.   
So, he sings that knight his future, makes it even more rewarding for him. Then he leaves him behind to his fate.   


* * *

  
  
He has forgone his clothes some time ago and the blackness of the ones he has now make him blend in. It is weird for him to look down and not see color, but only darkness. Letters that pass him look even more golden on the dark background. On the other hand, he cannot see how dirty are his clothes. With months on the road it is just what he needs.   
After all, he knows what he is looking for isn’t in the camps. He moves past them and into the forest, where stepping into mud and dirt is the usual occurrence. Back in the day, he would recoil from the notion that he would let his clothes achieve such a sorry state. He is a man with a mission so he presses onward. He owes it to Paveta, for not trying harder to change her fate. Surviving in the wild makes his quest much more dangerous. He isn’t a good hunter. He tries, lying still in a bush to see a pray coming and toss his knife at it. Unfortunately, he has only one knife which makes hi reluctant to ever throw it. In the end, singing about a rabbit coming to his way proofs not to be that hard. The snow keeps falling and he feels like a child again. Running after his older brother the fastest he can, but it is still not fast enough. He tries to use paths left behind by animals, but the words often speak of predators he isn’t willing to encounter. To find the way he sings. He sings about a girl, a child-surprise. He sings of finding her and taking her somewhere safe.   
  
As he decides to rest near a river, he hears something move. He has been humming to himself for a while, but the movement makes him want to start singing just to make sure he is safe. Before he can there is light in front of him and the words go wild. They dance and push one in front of the other as they collapse into a form of a girl. A white-haired girl that looks as surprised to see him as he is to see her. 

“It’s you.” He whispers. 

But before he can move there is a steady hand on his shoulder and a smell of horse and leather surrounding him. 

“Jaskier.” He hears. 

“Geralt.” 

He turns around and there he is. His letters still white even though all others remain gold. ‘Ciri’ and ‘Jaskier’ dance around each other and around Geralt’s heart. The ‘witch’ is still there, but that’s not the most important thing. 

“You have made a name for yourself, Bringer of Ruin.” 

“Is that what they call me? Jaskier is fine. Julius if you want to be exact.” 

The Witcher grunts, before motioning for the girl to come closer. She hops over the stream and soon joins them. 

“You have powers.” She looks him up and down. “Geralt is right. We have heard about you.” 

“I do. Not that I understand most of them, but I do.” 

“Oh. I was hoping you could help me master mine.” She sounds a little bit disappointed. 

“Don’t worry. We will find you, teachers.” Julius promises. But then he turns to Geralt. “But before we do, I think you owe me something.” 

“I do?” The Witcher let’s go of his arm. 

“An apology.” 

“You never told me you could use magic.” 

“And does that give you a right to treat me like you did?” 

Geralt looks from him to Ciri. He seems to be looking for some kind of answer in her eyes. A glance to her reveals she is defiantly staring into the eyes of her caretaker. 

“Fine, I am sorry. I truly am. I shouldn't have told you what I did. I have regretted it ever since. Hell, I have even tried to look for you when I got back to Roach. But you were gone.” 

Julius glares at him for a second before nodding. It will do for now. 

“Alright. Now then, let’s get out of here.”   
  
  
A trek through the mountains turns out to be much easier when you have someone who can use a sword. With Ciri there Julius is no longer alone when Geralt leaves to find something to eat. She is a smart girl and they share the duty of setting up the camp. 

“What do you see?” She asks when they sit huddle together for warmth. 

Geralt is tending to Roach, but Julius can swear his ears perk up. 

“And how do you know I see something?” 

“You always look around us. And then you stop and just focus like you are reading a very interesting story. Grandfather used to have the same face while reading.” She explains. 

She doesn’t let her voice weaver while mentioning her family. She is strong. Probably stronger than all of them, Julius muses. 

“You are right. I can see letters, that form words. Even full sentences. And they tell me about fate. Sometimes about the past. Sometimes it is specific, sometimes it is not.” 

“Can you change it? Can you change fate?” She turns under the blanket that’s surrendering them.   
Her bright eyes stare at him with hope, with something akin to trust. 

“Sometimes. I’ve tried...” He stops for a moment, wondering if he is ready to tell her about his greatest failure. But he owes her that, he owes that to her mother. “It doesn't always work. I’ve tried changing your mother’s fate. But hers was so strong

no words came out of my mouth. I choked on them, vomited everything, but the right words.”   
Ciri doesn’t turn away from his gaze. She stares at him, head-on. Without fear or judgment. 

“Why? What does it mean that she had a strong fate?” 

Julius squirms under her scrutiny. She is asking him to explain things he had never tried to really put into words. But he wants to try for her. When Geralt comes closer, looking like he wants to stop that line of conversation Julius starts talking again. 

“Some people seem to be predestined to be something. Their fate isn’t just gold words dancing around. They have a different color. They are like marble” for a second he looks at Geralt “they have different shapes or don’t move at all. Your parents had words like that. Your father's didn’t move at all, they followed him like ghosts. And your mother’s were carved into the space around her. It seemed like someone had taken a knife and torn holes into the air.” 

Ciri finally looks away. 

“We need to get through the post south of here.” Geralt is surprisingly the one to break the silence. 

He sits on the other side of the fire, looking at them steadily. 

“I can sing our way through.” Julius offers. 

He feels giddiness inside. He can prove he is useful. He can show Geralt what he has thrown away before. 

“Or we can go around it. There is a limited space that soldiers can patrol.” 

“Fine by me.” 

Ciri leans into Julius, seeking more warmth. She is trembling, even with her coat on. 

“Come here, Geralt. You produce enough heat to outshine even a fire.” 

The Witcher raises his eyebrows incredibly high but follows the command. He settles on the other side of the girl. Julius raises their blanket, so the other man also sits under it. Soon there is a strong, warm arm going around both Ciri and Julius. 

“You both are weird.” The girl comments, before closing her eyes and clearly signalling her intent to fall asleep. 

“Well, she is right. We make quite a pair.” Julius muses with a smile. 

Geralt grunts, which isn’t that surprising. What is though is a gentle squeeze on the shoulder that accompanies it. 

“You know, that which you’ve made for Yennefer to stay was unnecessary.” Julius brings up while staring at the fire. “She has always been a part of your fate. Or at least some witch was. I know you meet a lot of them, but none made the same impression.” 

Geralt looks at him sharply. He seems to be waiting for the bard to continue. 

“I’ve seen it the first time we met. A witch, a child and me. All floating around you, like needy puppies. So, I knew I needed to follow you.” 

“Because of fate?” 

“Because no one ever had my name as a part of them. Especially around their heart.” 

Goldeyes meet blue. There is stillness in the world. The snow no longer falls on them, the words have stopped spinning. Ciri is a warm weight between them and when Julius leans in, hoping not to be hit in the face for his imposition he is met halfway. Rough lips meet hip, he can feel a scar or two running through them. The smell he has associated with Geralt for so long fills his nose and he knows his fate is sealed. 

“I never sang about you. Because I knew that my perfect flirting technique would suffice.” 

That earns him a push out of the warm embrace of their blanket and a muffled giggle from Ciri.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is it, for now! I have that idea of Ciri getting to know her Witcher uncles and more human cousins from her other dad side. But that's an idea for later. We can now enjoy gentle dads for now <3

**Author's Note:**

> okay, so the premiss is: what if Kassandra could not only see the future but also change it. The result: overpowered bard
> 
> you can find me on Tumblr as: hallaia  
> (come and scream your headcanons at me)


End file.
